


they can break our hearts (they can’t take our souls)

by katebishoop



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on season 3 trailer, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, title from Empty Gold by Halsey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5580265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katebishoop/pseuds/katebishoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought you were dead,” Clarke breathed, her face tucked into her shoulder. She pulled back so she could look at him, inspect him, “Raven told me what you had done - and I ran to go find you, but when I got there they were all dead -” Clarke’s teared up as she tumbled over her words “-just a whole field of them, dead, and I didn’t know if you were one of them-”</p><p>[Nominee for Best Angst Drabble in the 2016 Bellarke Fanfiction Awards]</p>
            </blockquote>





	they can break our hearts (they can’t take our souls)

Bellamy was tired.

His muscles ached; his bones felt brittle under his skin. He felt heavier - a great, invisible, omnipresent weight on his shoulders.

There was blood on his hands that could never be washed off. Scars on him that would never fade away. Fractures that would never heal. He could never be clean again.

He’d never been innocent to begin with.

_may we meet again_

Clarke had left; left him with politics he wanted no part of and thirty odd broken children to look after. He wanted to hate her, He thought he hated her, for a while. In between the nightmares of the mountain he had dreams he had of them, in different life times, in different timelines. She’d come back, or she never left, or sometimes, he’d follow. Either way, they were together. They were together, and happy, in his dreams.

And, as always, woke with a bitter taste in his mouth.

He had scolded himself everytime he looked past the gate for too long, or whenever the gate opened and his head would jerk around. He wanted hate himself for still having hope that she’d be on the other side. But, always he couldn’t.

The gate would open, his head would jerk around, his heart would inflate -

And it would deflate, just as quickly.

But one day, three months since she had left, something changed.

It was Indra.

Kane had gone up to her, and Bellamy was pulled there. He was always pulled towards where Clarke lingered.

“This is about Clarke,” Kane said. It wasn’t a question.

Indra eyed Bellamy as he approached, but looked at Kane when she spoke. “She’s being hunted - by _everyone_.”

Monty had been the first person to volunteer to come with him. Bellamy hadn’t even said anything yet - but of course, he didn’t need to. Of course he was going after Clarke.

And oh god, he had found her, or she had found him, because once again she had been running towards him and throwing herself in his arms.

The last time he had actually cried? That night, with Clarke, and Dax, and drugged induced hallucinations, with whispered confessions and forgiveness.

He hadn’t cried when Finn died. He hadn’t cried when the Mountain tortured him, or when he killed them all.

He hadn’t cried when Clarke left, though he wanted too. He never cried when he woke up from a nightmare, or even when his chest ached and his throat got all tight just from missing her.

He was crying now. First just watering eyes - _god, she’s alive, Clarke’s alive_ \- then tears rolling down his cheeks - _she’s here, Clarke’s here_ \- to full blown sobbing when he could feel the tears on Clarke’s cheeks too, because she was just as affected as he was, and he could finally let three months of emotion just pour out.

_Clarke Clarke Clarke Clarke_

She had come back to him, back with him, to Camp Jaha.

But this wasn’t one of his dreams. Something was different. There they were, physically together: Bellamy and Clarke. But not Bellamy and Clarke. He’d have her back, always. But Clarke was more hesitant, more… foreign, to him.

Yes, they’ve disagreed, frequently. When they first met: about the wristbands, about Murphy, about Lincoln, about whether to fight or flight. They disagreed agreed on him being the inside man, at first.

But something about this is, different.

“Please tell me that going to war again is not what you want,” Clarke pleaded.

Bellamy could see Clarke, but was he really looking at her? “We’ve been at war since we landed.” She had to know that; she had too.

Bellamy had to accept that things changed, and not the way he thought they would.

Bellamy was a bit lost.

Not as lost though, than without-

_You’re dead to me!_

It was bigger than their first fight, back when they were fighting about Lincoln (they still were fighting about Lincoln, weren’t they?).

The beating his sister gave him - that he deserved, god, he deserved every punch, every kick, his broken lip, his gushing nose - was worse than the pain from the virus, from his hanging, from the Mountain.

It was worse than Clarke leaving.

It was worse than realizing she didn’t fully come back.

_He deserved it he deserved it he deserved it he deserved it_

Octavia - his sister, his _life_ \- hates him.

Suddenly the world went quiet. White noise filled his ears, and his ears fell deaf to any concerns his friends had.

He was numb.

But he couldn’t give up.

“I have always done what was best for us. I need you to trust that I am doing that now” He had said.

Who had he been reassuring?

He was singular. He was no longer somebody’s brother. He had a sole focus, purpose. Accomplish the mission.

Just maybe, maybe, he’d be forgiven when this was all over.

So he went, in disguise again as a grounder, their inside man. Although this time there was no one he was rescuing, just killing.

* * *

The fog he’d been in subsided, somewhat, as soon as she flung herself in his arms again.

“I thought you were dead,” Clarke breathed, her face tucked into her shoulder. She pulled back so she could look at him, inspect him, “Raven told me what you had done - and I ran to go find you, but when I got there they were all dead -” Clarke’s teared up as she tumbled over her words “-just a whole field of them, dead, and I didn’t know if you were one of them-”

Clarke caught herself and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, “I was so worried you were dead.”

Something in Clarke had changed in her absence. Appearance wise, her hair was longer, her clothes weren’t of the Ark, she had scars that he couldn’t remember getting. She was rougher around the edges, harsher in her words. She looked at Lexa differently, a mix of hurt and loathing and unfathomability that he could never understand.

She looked at him differently, too.

And Bellamy also had changed.

On the Ark he had only killed one person: his mother. Since being coming to the ground, he doesn’t have enough bones in his body for all of his responsibilities. Atom had died trying to make things up with him. Wells had died because of the advice he’d given to Charlotte. Charlotte had died because of what it had done to her. Three-hundred and twenty people culled from the Ark because of his selfishness. Mbege, Diggs, and Roma had died trying to help him find Octavia.  Dax. All those that died from the disease, because he didn’t kick Murphy out soon enough, and Myles and Connor, because he let Murphy stay. Several hundred grounders from the rocket propulsion. Sterling, because he wasn’t strong enough. Eighteen villagers because he let Finn go. Finn, because Bellamy let him be reckless. Lovejoy, Lovejoy’s son. Maya, Maya’s father. He was supposed to protect Fox, and he couldn’t. Hundreds more as he lowered the lever, his hand covering Clarke’s.

He stopped counting after that. He just knows that he can add at least a hundred  - _a whole field of them, dead_ \- to the count.

(And one more because, god he couldn’t _he just couldn’t say it)_

There had been no more doubt in his heart, he realized about a month into her absence, that he loved her. He had loved Clarke.

There was also no doubt now, he knew, that she had broken his heart.

(and he had broken his own heart, too, they were in that together).

Things had shifted, but looking at her now, her eyes full of relief and a thousand other things he couldn’t name, he could feel that spark, that spark of hope that she ignites in him.

(how could he have hope though? without Octavia?)

Bellamy’s heart was broken, its pieces piercing his lungs and making it hard from him to breathe. Did he love Clarke? Not in the same way; not like he did in his dreams, where he imagined a future for them. That was gone.

But that hope - that look in her eyes - rumbled inside him. Despite the achy muscles and brittle bones, despites the blood and scars and fractures, despite the weight of everything crushing his like Atlas trying to hold up the sky-

He knew. He knew he would have her back; that he’d always have her back. He knew that they were in this for the long haul despite their differences and disagreements.

It was love that he couldn’t shake, deep within him.

If she was here, if she could come back, if she could look at him close to the same way as before, before the world fell at their feet, before they pulled the lever and committed genocide together, then maybe, Octavia could one day, too…

Bellamy reached out and pulled Clark back in for a hug. It was loose, he was leaning on her, for support in more ways that one. “I’m so tired, Clarke.”

He can feel her eyelashes against his cheek, the feel of her sigh against his neck, “I know, Bellamy. I know.”

Her lips brushed against his cheek, and his eyes closed, and he was back outside Camp Jaha’s gates so, so long ago.

When he woke up there was still a bitter taste in his mouth, but there was also hope in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out over on [tumblr](http://bellakeyblake.tumblr.com)!


End file.
